The hot story of the month around Jamshedpur has been the increasing temperatures felt around the city and the growing concerns around a drought. Newspapers report that by late May, temperatures will be as high as 50C and staying there as the summer peaks around June 21, the solstice. Every morning, the lady who comes to clean the apartment says to me as a way of greeting, “Bahut garmi hai, na? Zyada garmi lagte hai”, indicating that it’s very hot. In fact, it’s much hotter and drier than it used to be.

The fact is that these changes in weather patterns aren’t just peculiar of this year; it’s been a gradual change that has worsened annually, directly caused by global warming. Local Jamshedpur residents remember a time when the unrelenting summer rays were interrupted by daily afternoon showers, which would cool the city. But those days are distant memories of twenty years back.  These days, we have to wait for the monsoons for any hope of relief.

In April, The Times of India (Jharkhand edition) reported that “Extreme heat drying up water bodies and triggering flash fires in Jharkhand forests are not just usual implications of summer scorch, rather it has links with climate changes.” The ripple effect of this extreme heat on the environment is great. The traditional Sakhua tree, an important source of timber for Jharkhand state, is no longer flowering because of the lack of conventional rainfall. Droughts also decrease crop yields and result in seed shortages, which contribute the overall poverty of the state. The Gene Campaign even goes as far as to state the Naxal rebellions in Jharkhand are an outcome of poverty caused by poor drought management by the government.

However, Jamshedpur isn’t the only place facing these noticeable changes in climate. Intelligent Life Magazine recently ran a poignant article on the disappearing seasons around the world: in Orissa, an eastern Indian state, farmers have noticed that the monsoon rains no longer follow the predictable schedule of centuries old. The monsoons come earlier than usual, causing floods and destroying crops. In Uganda, farmers have noticed that their once reliable two rainy seasons of three months have been replaced by spotty rains of one month duration. In Kashmir, the brief rainy season between winter and spring, called “tsonth” has completely vanished in the last decade. The examples of missing rainy seasons are numerous and the impact is felt on many levels from the ecological cycle to the millions of farmers whose crops are devastated.

While I sat in my hot, dusty flat lamenting my bad luck for arriving in Jamshedpur during a particularly hot year, I was completely unaware that in actuality, it’s just the world’s back luck that our planet is heating up.  The heat in Jamshedpur is certainly unpleasant, but the environmental consequences of global warming are even more unpleasant – for everyone. So the next time you escape from an unusually hot summer’s day into an air conditioned bubble, pause for a moment and think about why it’s so darn hot. And see if you still doubt global warming.

I recently relocated to Jamshedpur, also known as Tatanagar (i.e., Tata Colony). Like other industrial cities that developed around one manufacturer, everything in Jamshedpur revolves around Tata Steel. In the most literal sense, Tata’s main steel plant and blast furnaces sit atop the only hill, overlooking the entire city. Nearby, there is a Tata hospital, Tata school, Tata research archives and museum, and even Tata security – the only public structure missing is a Tata Temple. However, unlike Nike in Niketown or Benz in Stuttgart which are deified in public, Tata is even ubiquitous in the home, thanks to its horizontal diversifications into the manufacturing of every commercial good. We cook with Tata salt, drink Tata tea, watch TataSky tv, which is powered by Tata electricity. [Most recently, Tata has started bottling water as well, so it’s only a matter of time before that catches on]

But much as I mock the invasion of Tata branded everything in my life, it is also a blessing to live under Tata’s competent operations. There are parts of Jamshedpur which are maintained by the public government of Jharkhand, and the differences in quality of life between the privately and publicly managed areas are stark.

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During these hot summer months when electricity is in high demand, load shedding is a part of life.  My building’s electricity is supplied by Tata’s power plant, but the building across the street is not and is instead wired to the public grid. The dependability of Tata power versus public power is as different as fire and ice. Tata power suffers infrequent outages the longest, of which I’ve experienced, lasted ~15 minutes.  In comparison, it’s not uncommon to watch the lights across the street suddenly spark out every other night. As the heat reaches 50C in the peak of summer, these outages are also becoming more frequent across the street and last for longer periods. The luckier families across the street have small back-up generators, but for the large majority of those who live in humble houses, they sit in darkness without light and worst of all, without a fan to relieve them from the heat. Last week, the publicly supplied power was out for 3 days straight.

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Jamshedpur proper has a reputation of being the “Green City” and “Clean City”, titles which it lives up to. Most areas of the city are exceptionally clean and litter-free, remarkable for a metropolitan in India. Jubilee Park, a popular gathering place for families during the evenings, is spotlessly kept with neat rows of trees and well tended green lawns. The streets of the city even have sidewalks, which pedestrians use! Tata has taken a great effort as a private corporation to maintain the city, and it shows. The contrast is on the other side of the tracks (literally), in Jugsalai – a periphery of the city, which is maintained by the public government.  Immediately upon crossing the railroad tracks, the narrow streets are covered with trash and order is left behind. The rubble piles, common to most cities in India, narrow the already crowded streets. In order to drive through Jugsalai, one has to inevitably drive over piles of building materials – gravel, sand, etc. – and avoid running over people and cattle who walk in the middle of these streets because the sidewalks have disappeared.

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It’s hard not to favor private management over public management when I witness such disparities within one city. As a stranger to this city, it’s hard for me comprehend how these two sides of Jamshedpur co-exist and how the public government can evade taking actions to improve the situation. How has there been no demand by the population to close the gaps between these two realities? I would demand a more dependable supply of power that won’t leave people sitting in the dark looking across the way into the brightly lit living rooms of their neighbors. The public government should start with that at least, otherwise Jamshedpur will always continue to be two cities – public and private – and we know which one wins that competition.